


He Dares Not Confess

by shakespeareaddict



Series: The All-Consuming Fire [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: BDSM dynamics, Character Study, Dom!Watson, Emotional Hurt No Comfort, Established Relationship, Holmes has problems, Ignores Canon, Implied Sensory Overload, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Third Person Limited, This isn't actually all that explicit, Watson does too, Watson's an excellent dom even if he doesn't like being one, sub!Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareaddict/pseuds/shakespeareaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson doesn't know why, but sometimes Holmes needs him to hurt him. And even though he doesn't like doing so, he does it, because he loves Holmes, and Holmes is worth it.<br/>Only lately things went really bad between them, and now this is the only kind of sex they have. Watson's pretty sure it's his fault, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Dares Not Confess

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for a Holmes/Watson story where Holmes needs Watson to dominate him every now and then so he can "shut down", and Watson actually really hates to do this, has been absentmindedly buzzing around in my head for awhile. I haven't done it before because I don't want to write smut, but I woke up this morning and wrote it anyway, and started the second installment too, so....  
> I don't think I'll write anything very explicit, though. As in ever.

Between gasps Holmes is swearing in fluent French beneath him, and that isn’t what this is about, so Watson adjusts his grip until the sounds coming out of his partner’s mouth aren’t recognizable as any language, and thinks _That’s better_.

It is not better. He doesn’t like seeing Holmes hurt. He doesn’t like hurting Holmes. He doesn't like what he's going to have to do soon. But if it must happen, it must happen, and he had long ago resigned himself to this painful part of their relationship, no matter its current state. At least he knows he will take care of Holmes when this is over. He will always take care of Holmes.

The detective is panting now, not sure if he should push into Watson’s thrusts or his hand and almost overwhelmed with sensation, and it is now, now that he’s at his hardest and fullest once more, that Watson stops, to a noise of complaint from the detective. He reaches to the nightstand and grabs the handkerchief he left there, ties it into a secure knot around the base of Holmes’ shaft to a groan of “Oh, _yes_ ,” and starts again.

“You like that, don’t you?” he says into his ear. “Mm, the feel of you is exquisite, but with a bit of silk, I can—“ he tugs sharply on the handkerchief, and Holmes yelps, “—produce such wonderful sounds. None of your concerts are quite as lovely as the noises you make when I’m _buggering_ you, pounding into you.”

And he does think his lover sounds beautiful, even reduced to this as he is, but it isn’t about Watson right now, it’s about what Holmes needs, no matter why. He needs this, for whatever reason, to be overcome so completely that he is left blinded by his climax, and that hasn’t happened yet tonight. Already he has spilled his seed twice on the sheets, and if he is still sensate enough to have been swearing in French a moment ago, what Watson has been doing so far isn’t going to be enough on its own. The kerchief should help, letting the sensations build and build until his release, when it comes, will be like the coming of a tidal wave, and at last Holmes won't need any more of this tonight, and he can tend to him.

A few weeks ago, he would have just commanded Holmes to not come again, and that would be that, but the last time he did such a thing Holmes had come anyway (and he should have known he was reaching the end of his tether and slowed down or given him permission or _something_ , anything other than keep going) and he had been a wreck, apologizing and cringing away from him as if afraid of his wrath. It had taken him so long to calm his partner, and neither of them had been restful for several days. He wouldn’t have even consented to doing this ever again, would have been overjoyed to simply make love to his partner again, but he had asked, and Watson was powerless to refuse, and this is the only sort of sex they have had since.

It’s hateful and tragic and makes him want to scream, to beg for forgiveness since he must have done something wrong, to admit things he’s kept to himself because he was afraid. He’s not sure he can stand this situation much longer, and yet all he does is continue his ministrations, one hand on Holmes’ sex, the other running all over, his weight supported entirely by his lover, and he loathes himself for his inaction.

They continue. Sometimes he bites and nibbles at that long, sinuous neck, bent so Holmes can rest his head on his arms; more than once he yanks his head up by the hair and claims his mouth as roughly as his hand between his partner’s legs. Always he works at him, thrusting deep and long, and always brushing his sweet spot, driving him higher with pleasure until it is painful. He keeps it up for a long time, at least half an hour, most likely much more, until the man beneath him is trembling, a stream of nonsense pouring from him like a prayer or litany, the words so well-worn they come to one’s tongue before one’s mind can register the need for them. (Does he need them?)

This is his signal. Watson levers himself up and works faster, harder, and Holmes would be begging if not for the hand now covering his mouth. _Just a little longer_ , he thinks, and _I’m sorry I use you so, I’m sorry you need me to._

Finally he growls, his voice not his own, “You’ll keep quiet if I remove my hand?” It doesn’t sound like a question, but it is. He wants to know, in the interest of staying as secret as they can, but Holmes needs him to act a certain way, and he does.

The detective is so far gone he can only nod frantically, and he runs his now-freed fingers down his spine, eliciting a moan and shudder. And finally, finally he knows it’s time, and reaches down, and unties the knot.

Holmes screams, his voice muffled by the pillows, and Watson hooks his arm around his waist to support him. He keeps moving inside him, on him, and slowly Holmes’ shouts dwindle to moans and faint desperate keening noises.

 _Now_ , he thinks, after the last drop of semen has left Holmes’ body, after he's begun squirming a little, trying to escape the relentless assault on his sore person, and Watson comes for the first time that night. Suprisingly, a feeble few drops more leak from Holmes' spent manhood before his arms and legs give up entirely, and he slumps on the covers.

As much as he would love to collapse with his lover, exhausted from the effort of maintaining control of himself for so long, he cannot, he has never been able to do so, and especially not now, after something broke between them. He cannot pull him close and wait until the morning to tend to his lover, his darling; he cannot playfully suggest in the first light that they clean themselves off in the bath together. There is no chance he will wake before Holmes does, and no chance that Holmes won’t leave before Watson is up. But he is a doctor, and this is his most precious patient, and there is a pathological need to ensure he is alright now, especially when he knows he won’t get a chance later, one he will not ignore now that they are finished.

He pulls out (Holmes whimpers at the sudden change after so long a time spent filled by Watson) and adjusts his dear so he isn’t lying in the mess staining Watson's duvet, then grabs a cloth off the nightstand and wets it in the full carafe sitting there, wiping their come from his skin. He cleans up Holmes gently, paying attention to every noise of protest, cataloguing and changing to make him more comfortable, and when they are both as clean as they will be and he is certain that his partner’s only serious injury is to his rear, and that that will heal soon enough, he picks him up and tucks him under the covers.

One of the few advantages to this part of their relationship is that Holmes is always pliant afterwards. It is as if he has been overwhelmed so thoroughly that a part of him grinds to a halt and refuses to start again for several hours, leaving a docile, gentler, more affectionate version of Holmes behind. It is almost unsettling, except he knows this is a part of his lover, too, no matter how represssed.

He can also stroke back Holmes’ sweat-damp hair without fear of reproach, and when he curls up next to him Holmes immediately moves as close as possible, draping himself over Watson so that his head rests over Watson’s heart and none of his sore, oversensitive parts are touched by anything but the sheets. Watson can hold him, and the luxury of being able to do so when he has been denied the pleasure except sometimes after these… _sessions_ …is not why he does this, though it soothes the heartache he feels whenever he picks up that riding crop or slides in without preparation.

Sometimes he forgets why he agreed to ever do this after the first time, when he had fucked him over his examination table out of frustration and anger and a need to confirm that Holmes was not dead. But then, like right now, Holmes turns his head and looks at him and smiles, and all he sees is wonder and affection and gratitude and something he sometimes convinces himself is love in Holmes’ face. The only time he ever looks at him like this is in the gentle candlelight and moonshine after he has been torn apart by his orgasm, like now, and it’s addictive, euphoric.

If this is all he ever has anymore, he thinks as he cups Holmes’ face with all the love he cannot show in daytime, he thinks he might be alright. All he has ever wanted from his lover, his love, is reciprocation, and this is better than nothing, more than he had expected when this began. He’ll take it if he has to.

That doesn’t mean he likes it.


End file.
